


so don't cry, don't worry, you're supposed to bleed the first time

by Anonymous



Series: dog teeth [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Anterograde Amnesia, Canon Divergent, Coercion, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Lost Time, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Non-Explicit Depictions of Sexual Assualt, One-Shot, Panic Attacks, Ranboo POV, Ranboo just doesn't know that in this, Ranboo-centric, References to Major Character Death, Short term memory loss, Some Retrograde Amnesia, Talking to Cats like they're people, Touch Aversion, Trauma, all other tags in the Dog Teeth series pretty much apply, an alternative take on whatever is happening with Ranboos arc in canon, black outs, but Tommy is fine, but it's technically part of a canon divergent series, can be read as a stand alone if you want, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After Tommy's funeral, Ranboo tries to hold onto (and make sense of) what memories he can.
Series: dog teeth [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069550
Comments: 26
Kudos: 348





	so don't cry, don't worry, you're supposed to bleed the first time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Flowers of Flesh and Blood by Nicole Dollanganger
> 
> This is not intended to romanticize or sexualize any of the themes depicted within. This also does not reflect any of the content creators nor real life people who share names or handles. These are characters here and the events are, for all intents and purposes, fictional.
> 
> This fic is an offshoot/side one-shot of the [dog teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069550) series from Ranboo's pov starting right after Tommy left exile and after Tubbo held a funeral for Tommy. So doesn't exactly follow canon but meanders along beside it. 
> 
> \---->Most notably, pretend Ranboo didn't go to Techno's house and talk to Tommy and all that after the Butcher Army stuff, etc. He still thinks Tommy is dead in this fic.  
> 

The funeral had been a somber affair. Quiet and intimate and lacking the sort of levity Tommy probably would have wanted. Tubbo retreated back to his own quarters right after and Ranboo stayed, lingering behind at the empty plot they had cordoned off for him. 

"This sucks..." he muttered, for lack of anything better to say or even describe it as. 

Tommy's last letter to him may as well have burned a hole through his pocket for how much he couldn't ignore it. It had been the standard fare, the sign off with far too many aliases, the whiplash levels of content, the only difference was that Tommy hadn't said he was doing well. The complete opposite actually. And the moment he picked up the parchment he should have rushed to be there for him, not meandered back to his house and stewed over it and what to do. Thinking had done nothing. But it's not like he could have ripped Tommy from exile either. Dream had said Tommy couldn't come back to L'Manberg, Tubbo agreed with that, and he listened to Tubbo.

Maybe he should have at least made an effort to show up to the party. Though, Ghostbur had given him one date, and Dream had said another. Dream told him that Tommy had retconned the event until later into the month due to something like bad weather… or maybe he had said Tommy was feeling under the weather. It was hard to remember the exact details.

He could have at least made more of an effort though. He rested a hand on the arch of the gravestone, the stone warm under his hands, as warm as most things felt to him, but even more so as the sun cheerily shined on it. It was far too bright of a day for such a morbid event. The sky should be draped in curtains of gray and swelled with rain for how heavy his chest felt. 

Guilt pooled, swampy and sticky in his gut and he swallowed thickly. All of this sucked. The fact Tommy was dead, the fact he hadn't reached out enough to stop him from-- _That._

He thought of the way Tubbo had described the tower he found in Logsted. He had been too chicken to wander anywhere near the beach. If he saw it in person he might actually throw up--

"How'd it go?" 

Ranboo stiffened, claws scratching against the gravestone as he pulled back too quickly. He glanced over to see Dream with his hands in his jacket pocket, shoulders slightly slumped, but somehow always still rivaling him in height. Half-ender unfortunately meant he was still very much in the more human range of things, and average human height was a curse sometimes. 

"Uh, it went… well?" 

Dream huffed out a laugh. "Not sure if any funeral can ever go well, but sure." 

There was something about the way he laughed.

"You don't--" His brow furrowed. "You don't think he's dead?" 

"No." 

"How do you know?" Ranboo started, eyes darting to the headstone. "He hasn't answered any of us. It's all been radio silence and trying to get a compass to follow him is impossible. It just keeps spinning when we try." 

Dream laughed and shook his head. "I know him. That's not how he'd do it." 

"I--" He paused. "Are you sure?" 

Dream shrugged and tapped behind his ear. "There's more than one way to disappear without dying." 

Ranboo frowned, fingers reaching up to his own redstone implant, nestled just under the crease behind his ear. He wasn't about to call a man out on his own delusions. Tommy was more than likely dead. Like scattered to the wind, dead. Like jumped into the sea and didn't climb back out, dead. Like hit the ground so hard there's nothing left to salvage, dead. Tommy was _dead_ and Ranboo hadn't done anything to prevent that. 

"Alright..." He fidgeted with the cuff of his suit. "Well, uh…" 

"Do you miss him?" Dream asked, sidled in close.

Ranboo took a half-step back, widening the space between them. "Y-- Yes, of course. He's-- He was my friend." 

A hand fell on his shoulder and he had to work to not shrug it off. To other people, it would seem rude. Other people invited touch, thrived off it, they didn't flinch and cow and step back when someone so much as breathed too close to them. This was… fine. 

He definitely wasn't only thinking about the fingers dipped just over his back or the thumb dug in right over his collarbone-- And none of it hard, if anything it was probably meant to be comforting, but to him, it was like nails were stabbing into his shoulder. And all of them were always so warm, like their veins were filled with molten rock and fire. 

"Then why weren't you there for him?" Dream asked, voice meandering and lacking any venom, but it _stung_.

He shook his head. "I was-- I tried to be. I-- We traded letters back and forth, I--" 

"You could have visited him more. I think he would have enjoyed the company." 

"I could have, yeah, but Tubbo-- He needed my help here and I--" 

"I know. You and Tubbo were always busy. L'Manberg needed her leaders, and that's fine." Dream hummed, a short and lingering note that crawled under his skin. "S'shame that you two couldn't make more time for him... Guess that doesn't really matter now though." 

He looked down at his feet rather than the blank-eyed judgement of Dream's mask. 

"It's not so bad, right? At least you won't have to worry about him causing trouble." Dream continued and Ranboo's shoulders hiked up. 

"Yeah…" 

The fingers squeezed, sharp and short and then released him. He had to hide the audible exhale he let out at the absence of them.

"Well… See you around, Ranboo." Dream waved lazily over his shoulder as he loped back up the path. 

He waved, a short abrupt, fingers half-curled, little wave at Dream's retreating back, before reaching for his shoulder and covering it with his palm. Grimacing he pulled his journal free from his suit jacket, wrote for a moment, and placed it back into it's less than clever hiding spot.

Dream was an odd bird. It was always hard to pin down what exactly he was thinking or even what he wanted from--

_Click._

The fishing rod in his hands slipped from his grasp before he tightened his fingers around it, blinked at the harsh glare of sunlight and glanced around him. Tubbo sat beside him, trousers rolled up near to the knee, feet dangled off the dock, a fishing pole in his own hands as he occasionally tugged at it, the line jumping and snapping taught with each pull. He realized his own shoes had been toed off, sat behind him on the docks, and it was weird to feel the water under his toes. It was warm, too warm, and he drew them back with a hiss at the slight sting. 

"Ranboo? You okay?" 

"Uhm, yeah, sorry, just zoned out there a bit." He laughed, playing off the lost chunk of time with ease. 

This wasn't anything new really. With a memory as cheese-holed as his could be, it was hard to really trace back how he got to places when it was bad. Opening his journal revealed the day's events; the funeral, the conversation with Dream, heading back to his house, feeding Jjjjjefrey and the others, Tubbo inviting him to go fishing. He supposed that's how he ended up here then. Closing and pocketing the journal he focused back onto the matter at hand. 

Fishing wasn't exactly his strong suit. Water and the sea and other bodies of the stuff hadn't exactly been common back home. Rain even less so. And he wasn't really sure what he was doing as he tried to imitate the way Tubbo occasionally nudged the bobber around below by pulling back or to the side with the pole. 

_Click._

The fish squirmed and flopped on the wooden boards, flailing and gasping at air as it's gills flared and eyes stared glassily up at nothing. Tubbo snatched it up, only to drop it as it slipped from his fingers and thwacked against the edge of the dock, before, with a final desperate convulsion, it plunked right back into the water. 

"Guess it wasn't meant to be," he joked, smiling as Tubbo groaned. 

"I almost had it!" 

"Nearly, but no dice, as they say." 

Tubbo swiped at his face, hair slightly stuck to his forehead with sweat. And for winter, it certainly wasn't cold out. Not that Ranboo had much measure on that, it was always way too warm. Today was particularly sweltering, and while he didn't sweat like the rest of them, he could feel his eyes burning with that slightly feverish tinge that indicated he should seek shade and the cooler interior of a house sooner rather than later. 

"Uhm, did you want to try this again some other time?" He asked. 

"Yeah, and next time I'll actually catch something." 

"I believe in you," he chuckled, collecting his own discarded fishing rod. 

"At least someone does." 

"You've got this, Mr. President." 

Tubbo laughed. "That's weird. We're friends Ranboo, you don't have to call me president." 

"Wait, I thought that was your name," he deadpanned with a small smile.

"Haha, _hilarious_." Tubbo rolled his eyes. "C'mon, you should get inside before you melt." 

"It's not that bad. We could stay out if you wanted to." 

Tubbo shook his head. "Naw, it's--" 

_Click._

"--we could still go and get him. He's still in the same spot. He's right fucking there, Tubbo." 

He blinked. And he guessed today was a bad day. Considering he sat under L'Manberg, in the Butcher Army meeting room, and he wasn't even sure how he had gotten there or why they were here again. Opening his journal revealed a clinical, bullet point list. 

_'-went fishing with Tubbo, agreed to do it again sometime  
-went back to my place and hung out a bit  
-Quackity and Fundy showed up, proposed meeting at the B.A. spot  
-Discussions to still kill Technoblade offered by Quackity (don't understand why he is so adamant about that still) and he mentioned killing Dream (also don't understand this one fully)  
-Tubbo seems reluctant about both, hopefully he doesn't choose a side again'_

He would have to transcribe some of this into _Do Not Read_ and scrub the page, but he could focus on that later. 

"You saw how well it went last time, and Dream is already looking for an excuse to undermine the sovereignty of L'Manberg. If we keep pushing past our jurisdiction, he'll eventually retaliate..." Tubbo explained, level-headed and sounding like an actual leader.

"So what, fuck him. What's he gonna do anyway?" 

"Uh--" He piped up, clearing his throat. "Maybe we should also consider the fact he considers Technoblade an ally of sorts." 

"How do you know that?" 

His brow furrowed. How did he know that? He flipped through his journal, tried to find the dots that connected that particular thread. The note 'totem' glared back. 

"He used a totem during the execution. Where else would he have gotten that?" He asked.

"I don't fucking know. Phil?" Quackity snarled back.

"I--" 

_Click._

The sharp meow made him jerk back. Enderchest glared up at him, eyes narrowed and little cat brow furrowed. It was dark. The only light from the glow stone posts outside and down by the docks. The endercat blinked at him and he realized he had been in the midst of dropping food into his bowl when he had focused back in. 

"Sorry, bud." He finished the task and patted at his chest for his journal, realizing too quickly he was in pajamas and not his usual suit. He sighed.

"Today's been a rough day…" he muttered to Enderchest who merely replied with the dry crunch of cured meats.

Jjjjjefrey meowed at him from his perch atop a chest and he sighed again.

"Yeah, I just keep--" He waved a hand. "It's been hard to keep track of everything." 

Jjjjjefrey tilted his head. 

"I don't know why it's happening either. It's not usually this bad." 

Jjjjjefrey blinked. 

"I don't know why it's so bad." 

Jjjjjefrey licked at his paw. 

"You're right, I need to check the journals." 

The enderchest opened with the touch of his palm, the chill from the inside nearly blissful compared to the constant sweltering roil of the overworld. It was only a pocket of the End, a mere copy of it, utilized to suspend objects between here and there for use, but it was enough that he always found himself lingering whenever he opened it. _Do Not Read_ sat untouched, and he quickly flipped through it to see if he had added to it, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed. 

The daily journal revealed that the meeting had ended with nothing being decided and Quackity storming off. Fundy had lingered to talk to Tubbo about what to do with Phil and whether they actually wanted to stop him from leaving his house arrest to visit Technoblade or if it even mattered anymore. Then he had left and gone back home. Tomorrow's to-do list was simply meeting up with Fundy to work on their ghast project more. 

There was probably an hour or two unaccounted for, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He didn't write down every single time he ate or sat down to read a book or anything like that. It would just clog up the day. 

And skipping around aimlessly was, admittedly, exhausting. Relying only on his journals to get him through the days became trying if a bad stint went on for too long. And it was harrowing to constantly wake up and realize he couldn't remember an entire day's worth of events besides what he had managed to write down. 

Without solid memories, life felt a lot like drifting out at sea. No discernable land masses in sight, just horizon for miles and miles and no end in sight. One patch of sea as identical as the next, you couldn't tell if you had moved one foot or a hundred feet. It all started to blend together. It all felt the same...

It was probably just the stress making it hard to focus and retain much. He hadn't really wanted to think about it since the funeral, but it swirled around in his head. How he hadn't been able to stop it. To help Tommy. How he had left him, abandoned and alone out there, and done nothing besides the bare minimum to reach out to him. 

He sighed and tugged his fingers through his hair, ears pressed down so far they might as well have lain flush. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth he paced, back and forth, the ease and repetition of the movement working to drain the spiders from where they crawled up and down his spine. 

If only he'd visited more, maybe he wouldn't have--

_Click._

Jolting up he realized he had been asleep. Not for long, indicated by how little the night had changed outside the windows, but long enough nap scars had pressed themselves into one side of his arm. He rubbed at his skin until they faded. The light rap of knuckles against the front door sent him to his feet, shoulders hunched and fingers curled. 

Who would even reasonably be wandering around at this hour? 

He grabbed his netherite sword up from where he'd slid it under his bed-- Just in case, always just in case, better prepared than sorry-- And headed for the door. His ears perked up, tilted towards the oak barrier, and he could hear nothing out of the ordinary beyond it. Unlatching the door, he kept one hand on his blade as he inched it open--

_Click_. 

The sun filtered in through the windows and he rubbed at his eyes. They burned, like he'd crafted his eyelids out of sandpaper. Enderchest perched on his chest and he wished that he could just ask the cat if he had slept at all or if the sleep he had gotten had just been particularly shitty. 

Opening his journal he expected to see nothing changed from last night, not like he could even recall what exactly had been scrawled down yesterday at this rate anyway. Yesterday had been pressed full of holes and melted like burnt and water-logged paper. Hopefully today would be better. He looked at the to-do list reminder he left himself.

_'meet up with Dream at the community house'_

He closed the journal and set about getting ready for the day. 

_Click._

"Ranboo?" 

"Huh?" He blinked, stumbling a step before catching himself. "Oh, yeah, sorry. What were you saying?" 

"I was asking if you wanted to visit Tommy today." 

"Visit--" His brow furrowed and it took him too long to remember Tubbo didn't mean actual Tommy. "Oh, like his marker." 

"Yeah…" 

He nodded, still trying to get his bearings while also putting on a smile for Tubbo. "Sure, uhm...That sounds fine." 

"Cool." 

His wrist, the darker one, the one where he had to hold it closer to see the dark-purpled discoloration pressed into the skin; hurt. And he didn't really know why. Pulling out his journal revealed nothing more than any other day. 

_'-woke up to jjjjjefrey throwing up, just a hairball though, glad he's okay  
-went to Phil's house and talked to Ghostbur. He tried to give me blue but I declined.  
-Tubbo met up with me on way down to see if I could talk to Niki'_

He penned down the fact Tubbo had invited him to visit Tommy and closed the journal. The slight unease drifted away the moment he saw Tommy's memoriam. He wondered if Tommy was doing okay, wherever he was now. Placing a hand on the gravestone, he noticed one of his claws on his darker hand was chipped, the usually sharp end dull and cracked. It hurt slightly, but not terribly, and matched with the bruising, he wondered if he had just gotten his hand stuck somewhere, had to yank it back out, and forgot. Forgetting wouldn't exactly be out of the ordinary after all. 

"You think he would ever come back like Wilbur?" Tubbo asked. 

He tore his eyes away from his hand. "I think he would have come back by now." 

"You think he blames us?" 

"For what?" Ranboo asked, but he already knew exactly what.

"For just leaving him out there." 

"I don't know..." He admitted. 

"I should've visited. I should've made an effort to see him." 

"You can't exactly change the past, Tubbo." You _could_ always forget it though, something he excelled at to such a degree he startled even himself sometimes. 

"I know…" 

"I don't think he'd want us to just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves though." 

"He wouldn't, no." Tubbo swiped at his cheek, a subtle and quick motion, but Ranboo didn't miss it. 

"We could go check in on BeeInnit if you want?" He offered. 

Tubbo smiled shakily. "Yeah." 

Ranboo led the way to the hives, dress shoes clipping the ground beneath him. He flexed his hand, tried to chase away the twinge wrapped around his wrist and convince himself it was just a forgetful mistake on his part. He'd gotten injuries in the past, ones he never remembered, it was nothing. It was nothi-- 

_Click._

Jerking up from the floor he turned his head to and fro, assessed where he had come to, and realized he was home again. Sat on the floor for some reason, but at home at least. He tugged his fingers through his hair, hunched over, and tried to hone in on the moment. He had to remember this, he had to hold onto something or else he would keep drifting. 

He focused on the ground under his legs, his palms clasped together, fingers kneading at one another. Removing the journal from his jacket, he flipped it open. He hadn't written anything after the beehives. That had been in the afternoon. He distinctly recalled at least the sun shining through the apiary as he and Tubbo worked on tending to the hives. Exact details were fuzzy, but it had been daylight. There had been sunlight. _There had been sunlight._

The dark crouched outside. The sky void of light, windows shaded and turned opaque. He shivered. 

Why hadn't he written anything down? That was hours lost. Not just an hour or two, but a whole chunk of the day. He usually wrote at least something down. Even if it was just, _day was uneventful_. He hadn't written down a single thing and-- The line where he had written that he had visited Phil. He squinted at it. There was the faintest hint of smudge marks below it, like he had erased something and rewrote the other memory on top of it. Trying to make out what had been there before proved impossible. Even flipping over the page and trying to shade the impressions of the previous words with the side of his pencil did nothing. It must've not been important if he had erased and written over it. It couldn't have been, right? 

"Why would I change something?" He muttered to the empty air, fingers curled around the leather cover, eyes roaming over the events of the day. 

He looked to Jjjjjefrey and he couldn't remember having to clean up any hairballs this morning, he couldn't even recall the tell-tale sounds the cat would have made if it had happened. And his memory was bad, sure, but there were usually wavering impressions left behind. Small details that would stick and spin if he plucked at them enough. There was nothing now though. Closing his eyes, he tried to think back to that morning, to the parts of the afternoon and evening that had slipped from him, tried to bring anything to light. 

The tang of metallic sulfur settled on his tongue. He wrinkled his nose, ears folding down. 

Why did he remember the smell of gunpowder? When had he been around gunpowder? Why did he remember gunpowder? Why did he taste gunpowder? Why did he--

"I don't--" He shook his head, squashing down the swell of unease, knowing if he focused on it his throat would continue to tighten until all he could do was growl like some beast. "Maybe-- Maybe it's just a mistake. You just didn't keep track well. You'll do better tomorr--" 

_Click._

Sunlight woke him as it usually did, filtering in through the glass in a harsh glare that sent him to his feet and shambling for the small kitchenette. Jjjjjefrey meowed at him, pawed at the leg of his pants, and demanded a meal. 

"Hey, buddy, one sec, I know." 

He meandered about the daily routine of preparing his animal's meals first and then his own. Sat down to eat at the single person table tucked up against the wall, journal opened as he read over the previous day. He hoped today would be better, that he would at least retain more of it. The to-do list glared up at him and an unexplained sense of deja vu settled over the nape of his neck like fingers. 

_'meet Dream at the community house'_

He shrugged and got ready for the day. 

_Click._

Hands rested over his own, guiding them over to the twisted twine, dipped in nitrous and flame powder, and he watched it shine, dangerous and bright under the torchlight as he plucked it up. The amused huff of air over the rim of his ear sent it twitching down and his shoulders hiked up at the too close press of someone leaned over and pressed up behind him. He dropped the prepared wick, fingers shaking, eyes widened at the blood red casing rolls, the scatter of noxious powders on the table, all smelling like ruin. 

"And you were doing so well..." A voice tutted as the hands retreated. 

He shook, trembled, quaked like a fawn, wished he had his journal, because he didn't want to forget this. Didn't want to forget that Dream was here too. That he--

_Click._

"Didn't you leave Tommy letters, Ranboo?" 

He blinked, ears twitching. "Yeah, we used to trade them back and forth, but I think Dream eventually found them or something. Tommy didn't seem to be getting them anymore after a while."

"You don't think Dream would stop him from getting them do you?" Niki asked. 

"Uh--" He swallowed, the back of his neck prickling, hands twitching. Something felt off. Something felt-- "No, I don't think so. I don't see why he'd have a reason to do that." 

"Maybe he just stopped responding then..." 

He sighed. "I should've known something was wrong the moment he didn't leave a reply." 

Niki nodded, her own eyes downcast. He wondered if the guilt ate at any of them as much as it gnawed around at him until he felt more cored than whole. Waiting until Niki left, he pulled out his journal, read over the day's events, and it was simple stuff. 

_'-woke up to jjjjjefrey throwing up again. Maybe ask Tubbo about it._  
-went to beehives, found weird space behind it with lots of dogs, not sure what that's about  
-Niki met me at the docks, asked if I had time to talk, I followed her to the L'Mantree (if you're reading this now, she talked about loyalty to people and not things and about choosing or not choosing sides, etc.)' 

A normal day. It was just a normal day. The soot stain at the edge of the cuff of his white undershirt wasn't normal though, nor the faint scent of it caught in the fabric. He rubbed at his jaw, palpitated at the twinge, the settle of soreness in the corner where the hinge met his ear. Alarm bells pinged off in his head and he went about manually slamming off each one. It wasn't the time to panic. He didn't need that right now. He could feel his heart tic away against his sternum, breaths drawn tight and shallow, hands jittering. He didn't need this right now. He needed to focus. Something was off and he needed to figure out what. He needed to focus and--

The first hiss of rain sent him to his feet, eyes darting for the nearest cover. It wouldn't kill him, but it was like if a human decided to stand under a sprinkle of very dull acid. Highly unpleasant. Scrambling for cover, he nearly tripped over the roots of the L'Mantree as he huddled against the trunk, pulled his suit jacket off and held it over his head in a shitty makeshift umbrella. He ended up crouching, and then sitting, knees tucked in close, feet turned inwards. His ears flicked with each drop that managed to slide it's way past the canopy and ping against his meager cover. Liquid splashed against his exposed finger and he winced, the water gnawing softly at his skin. 

The pass of a shadow overhead and the absence of any further assailants had him looking up. Dream loomed over him, blocking most of the rain that wormed its way through, gloved hand held out. He took it, unsure why Dream had even offered it, until he saw the pearl in his other and watched it arc across the sky, into the overhang of an outcropping carved into the rock face and-- 

The gut wrenching yank of being thrown from the overworld through the End and out the other side sent him stumbling, an arm caught him around the middle and the moment his feet steadied beneath him, he scrambled out of it's burning grip. He blinked at Dream, unsure what to say as he shuffled around for a moment, suit jacket bundled in his arms despite the sting the water caught in the fabric caused. 

"Uh… thanks." 

"Seems unpleasant." 

"Wh--" He started. "Oh, the rain. Yeah. I'm still not really used to it. I can usually just pretend it's not there, but--" Not while he nearly threw himself into a panic attack. 

"I get it." 

"You do?" 

"Not the rain part, just sometimes not being able to handle it the same way part." 

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Uh, right." 

Dream gestured towards the steady sheet of water falling across the overhang's reach. "Hope you, uh, didn't have any plans for the day, it's supposed to rain til dusk." 

He frowned. "That's not good." 

"Well--" Dream sat down, cross-legged, elbows rested on his knees. "Might as well wait it out."

He nodded, taking a similar seat, but a few paces removed from Dream as he balled his damp suit jacket in his lap, and stared out at the storm. It's not like he made a habit of hanging out with Dream much, and not by himself. Tubbo was usually there to ramble and fill the awkward spaces. He wasn't even sure what to talk about here, or if he should. Pulling out his journal, he swiped at the bone dry cover, making sure no water had gotten near the pages, before he flipped it open. 

_-it started to rain after Niki left, dream found you, you sat under an outcropping near the L'Mantree and--_

A hand grabbed his journal, slowly tugged it free from his hands before he could stop it. Reaching for it, he looked up to see Dream, crouched closer, too close even. His other hand delicately plucked the pencil from his slack claws and Ranboo could only watch as the eraser moved over the page. The last memory lost to a scatter of shavings that Dream dusted off the parchment before the book snapped shut with a--

_Click._

Enderchest butted against his chest, burying his head into his shirt and meowing loudly. The throaty, reverb-laced meow, more of a cough and growl than any other cat, resonated under his sternum and he couldn't help but imitate the noise back. He scratched the ender-cat behind the ear and under his chin, glanced around and realized he was home again.

"Niki and I had a good talk today I think. She brought up some valid points, but I still don't--" 

The lighter side of him, his clawed hand alabaster and stark against Enderchest's dark fur and gaunt frame, was wrapped in a thick band of sickly and pucey color at the wrist. More snatches of green bruising littered his arm, winding up the appendage until it disappeared up under where he had rolled the sleeve of his undershirt up. His suit jacket was missing, and the distant hiss of rain pattering in his ears made him recall it had rained and he had taken it off because of that. Had he gotten hurt trying to find cover from it though?

"How did that happen?" He asked no one, a claw tracing over the outline on his wrist. 

The more he focused on his own limbs, on his body, even the back of his skull and his neck, he felt-- Sore. Like he'd spent the day running around with Tubbo, or throwing his trident into the air and following it. His knees hurt, so maybe it had just been trident hopping-- It had rained after all. And his feet and legs ached like he'd spent the day going too high and landing with a jarring thud on earth rather than water. 

He frowned, ruffled out his hair with his hands, and specks of dirt shook free. Had he slept on the ground? Or had he just landed bad? Maybe he just landed bad. That would explain the stiffness at least. He stood, his leg twinged, spine curling, gut flipping--

"Ow, geezus..." He hissed through his teeth. "Feels like I got ran over by a horse..." 

Enderchest rubbed against his ankle, the purring, rumbling growls from him reverberating up his leg. 

"Thanks. And yeah, I don't know. Probably just a trident day gone wrong, right buddy?" He muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

He puttered around his house for a bit, trying to stay focused and not let his mind wander. The more wandering it did the less he would be able to stick to the moment and file away what he could. It seemed to work for a spell, long enough he could prepare supper for everyone, long enough he prepared a meal for himself and even read through a few pages of a novel, managing to slot the events into long term and not lose them to short term. 

When he went to shuck off his undershirt, change into a more comfortable one for bed, he noticed the dirt stains on the back, collected mostly at the shoulders. He must have really taken a nosedive today. Because he couldn't remember having laid in the dirt, not even during Niki's conversation did he recall taking off his suit jacket and laying down. Squinting at it, he tried to remember falling, tried to remember-- 

_\--his wrists scream, the fingers tightened around them like vices; unrelenting, ungiving, where hands trap his own above his head, shoulders pressed into the dirt and he--_

He shook his head, blinked and stumbled a step back, fists curled and arms drawn in tight to his chest, undershirt left abandoned and pooled against the floorboards. Raising a hand, he swiped at his lips, cupped a hand over his mouth and--

_\--a hand clasps over his mouth, fingers dug into his cheeks like a muzzle--_

He flinched back, fingers spasming over open air as he stared at his hands, squinted at the dirt caught under his claws, at the slight fleck of blood under a few of them. 

"I don't--" He didn't remember that. He couldn't remember that. What was that? What-- "That isn't--" 

_\--a thumb runs over his bottom lip, drags it down, and the fingers that press him down onto his knees are too warm-- It's too warm, and he--_

He shook his head, fingers tugging at his hair as he retreated another step. 

_\--can't breath, he can't breath, he can't breath, he can't breath, he can't breath, he can't--_

He managed to just make it to a bucket before he dispelled the entire contents of his stomach. Hunched over, shaking, claws dug against the ungiving steel. He focused on the faint chill of metal under his hands and he wished he had a vat of ice he could dunk himself into. It was too hot, his skin felt like it was unraveling at every joint, his throat constricting, the dangerous rumble starting in his chest didn't bode well and he-- 

_\--he's on fire. He's burst into flames. Magma injecting itself straight into his veins. He's dying, he knows he is, crumbling up into a burnt crisp at the teeth latching themselves into the side of his neck and worrying skin between them. The lips that follow fire brands, pokers for how much they burn and he--_

He bent over the bucket again, bile quick to leave him and join the rest of the new occupants at the base of the pail. Enderchest butted into his thigh, Jjjjjefrey meowing questioningly from across the room. Panting, shaking, shoulders wracked with flinchs and spasms he tried to figure out why he was dipped in heat, his stomach raked over live coals, insides spontaneously combusting in a catalyzed chain reaction that started from his gut outwards. 

"It hurts--" He cried before he could swallow the words, muffled it into his hand instead, and ignored the collection of acrid blue-green that slid down his wrist and pooled over his cheeks. 

He curled into himself, crumpled against the floor as he grabbed at his shoulders and tried to hold his insides together. A sob raked along the entirety of his spine and left him in a desperate plea. Enderchest pawed at his side, batted at him, and he wanted to reassure him, let him know he was okay, but his bones rattled, his insides melted and lit like wicks and wax and--

_\--blunt nails rake over the rise and fall of his sides, his eyes trace the rocky outcropping overhead, wide, filmed and useless, as his undershirt is pushed up, bunched up around his sternum and a hand-- too warm, too warm-- splays across the flighty jump of his stomach before--_

He pawed at his ribs, clawed at the empty space over his gut and fisted his hands in his shirt when the burning didn't go away. 

_\--he digs his claws into the shoulders of someone arched over him, knows he draws blood when he smells the acrid tang of iron, drives his nails deeper and pulls harder, tries to rip the fire off of him as it eats him alive--_

"Please-- I--" He choked, hunching over his legs. 

_\--it hurts, everything hurts, he's long bitten and chewed through his lip and all he can taste is blood and all he can hear is labored breaths and all he can smell is sweat and all he can feel is--_

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hur--" He slotted the meat of his palm between his teeth and locked the words behind it. Throat pinched so tight he could barely breathe, the ominous rumbles from under his sternum grew like the swell of a storm, his vision darkening around the edges, ringing purple as it swam and faded. 

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. Why did it hurt? Why did everything hurt? Why did everything hurt? Why did everything hurt? Why couldn't he remember why it hurt? Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn't he--

The sickening snap of bones twisted into a flood of violet and he--

_Click_

He woke up with a groan. Ignored the pounding headache at his temples and the raw metallic taste of iron on his tongue and the way Jjjjjefrey perched atop the highest shelf in the kitchenette, eyes narrowed down at him, tail flicking. He ignored the furrows dug into the floorboards, the way his hands ached and his joints felt clogged with sand and dirt. Ignored the broken glass and shredded sheets and the down gutted from the pillows. 

He picked up his journal, fingers trembling. The to-do list smiled up at him. _'meet Dream at the community house.'_

Today would be a good day. He knew it. Today would be a good day. Today would be a good day. Today would be a good day. Today would be a good-- 

_Click_

The melodic drifting of a song tickled his ears and they twitched down, pressing closer to his neck as he looked over to the lazily puttering jukebox. Sunlight filtered in from the wall to wall windows of the community house. He looked out the window, saw others, too distant to tell who they were beyond the blocks of colors that composed them. A hand fell on his shoulder, the faint reflection in the window revealed Dream behind him. How had he-- Why was he at the-- His brow furrowed, the music swelled in his ears, impossibly loud for how soft the notes were and he--

_Click._

He hummed to himself, kicking at small rocks on the path, hands in the pockets of his trousers and back hunched. 

"Hey, Ranboo, are you doing okay?"

He looked over to see Tubbo walking beside him. He tilted his head, frowning. "Yeah, why?" 

"You just seem off lately." 

"I feel fine..." He hummed, unsure where he had heard the tune that left him. "I-- I feel great, actually." 

He smiled and it seemed to ease the tension in Tubbo's shoulders. Pulling his journal out, he checked over today's to-do list. It was too easy to ignore the eraser smudges, it must've not been that important anyway. He penned in a new one, hand moving before he even thought about it: 

_'meet Dream at the community house tomorrow :)'_

Squinting he wondered why he even needed to meet up with Dream. He shrugged. Maybe he remembered something the man had said earlier. The journal's catalogued events revealed that he and Tubbo had met up with Dream just before this moment. It seemed like things were getting back on track at least. It felt like he could remember more than he had the past few days. He felt fine. Better than before. 

He felt good actually. He smiled, the easy tune of a song just on the tip of his tongue. 

He felt great.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, let's be real Dream (the character obviously) sucks in this. Statistically, and realistically, people who do this shit don't stop at one offense or even one victim. When they hold power over people and exist in systems that give them that power over minors, it's _bad_. And Ranboo having memory issues puts him right into the line of fire for manipulation (both canonically as we've seen and noncanonically like with what's happened in this series). No one should take advantage of him because of that, but just like in the real world, shitty people exist. 
> 
> In better news, the next Tommy pov part will have the two talking and hanging out some. Better times for oreo than this for sure.


End file.
